Under the Weather
by Write0rDie
Summary: Post S08 E03 Robot of Sherwood. Clara falls ill after her little 'dip' in episode 3. The Doctor looks after her in his own slightly abrasive way.
1. Chapter 1

Clara sneezed violently into her sleeve before flopping down onto the jump seat.

"You brought germs onto MY TARDIS!", The Doctor yelled before dramatically removing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping down the console where Clara had just touched.

"I felt alright when you picked me up", she said pinching the bridge of her nose in a vain effort to crush the headache that was drilling away in her temple.

With her eyes closed she heard the sonic screwdriver start up a few feet away and opened them to see The Doctor incinerating the used handkerchief and dropping the smouldering remains to the floor.

The screwdriver was by her head before she realised what was happening as The Doctor took a quick scan to see what medieval lurgy she had festering in her system.

"Nothing serious", he reported before putting the sonic back in his jacket pocket and looking down at her slumped form. "But you might want to think twice about taking a dip in a castle moat next time."

She looked up at him with watery eyes, a sudden tiredness coming over her. Her usual quick wit had evaporated and she wasn't even able to respond to his dig. All she could manage was a slack jawed stare.

He tilted his head slightly and studied her for a moment, waiting for a witty remark but there was silence. His large hand went to her forehead while the other reached around to the back of her neck. They felt like ice and she shuddered slightly under his unexpected touch. "You have a temperature, but you'll live."

He removed his hands just as quickly as he put them there and strode back to the console.

"We could still go", Clara said hopefully, sitting up straighter.

"What? And spread your disease throughout the galaxy? You are not going anywhere young lady."


	2. Chapter 2

Later that afternoon she woke to find The Doctor standing in front of her, a glass of water in one hand and two beige tablets in the other. Painfully unfolding herself from the jump seat, she looked up at him questioningly.

"Here", he said dropping two tablets onto her hand. "Swallow these."

"What are they?", she asked, letting them drop from his hand to hers but not game enough to put them in her mouth.

"Nothing exotic, my dear. Just paracetamol." He handed her the accompanying glass of water and waited.

She eyed the tablets suspiciously. "Is that the best you've got? Don't you have some kind of miracle cure from the future for colds or something?"

"'Fraid not. You'll have to tough it out."

Clara threw the tablets back with a sip the water. The Doctor didn't budge.

"Do you want to go home?", he asked.

"No. I.. I want to stay", she replied a little too quickly, a little too needy. She didn't fancy being unwell and alone in her flat.

"Right then." He took the glass from her with one hand and with the other he grabbed her by the upper arm and swung her out of the seat, the momentum throwing her forwards onto a small mattress.

"What are you doing?" she said landing face down.

"Putting you to bed", he said matter-of-factly, grabbing her right foot from behind and pulling the laces undone.

"Shouldn't I sleep in a bedroom? Don't you have dozens of them?" She turned to see him pull her shoe off and throw it in the general direction of the front door.

"I want to keep and eye on you. Can't have you expiring in my TARDIS."

Within a moment he'd removed and flung the 2nd shoe towards the door leaving her stocking feet exposed and her lying there slightly stunned but too tired to argue.

She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the feel of the soft mattress under her weary body. Her headache still throbbed and she started to think that the paracetamol was a very good idea.

Clara felt a duvet being thrown over her and then a firm hand patting her on the shoulder, in the same way you would to an obedient pet.

"Sleep Clara."


	3. Chapter 3

Clara slept the afternoon away fitfully on her makeshift bed in the TARDIS console room as The Doctor sat with a book a few feet away on the jump seat.

Over the course of the day her fever rose and then tapered off to a steady simmer. The duvet was not doing her any favours.

The chair creaked as The Doctor crossed his legs and turned another page. He'd read this book 100 times, but he was bored and at this point anything would do to pass the time.

Clara stirred and turned toward the sound. Her hair was starting to stick to her face and her lips were about as pale as he had ever seen them.

He got up from his reading and lifted her arm from the mattress, checking the pulse in her wrist. "Not dead yet. That's promising." He dropped her arm and stood holding the lapels of his jacket.

There was no answer from Clara, just a roll of her bloodshot eyes and coughing fit.

He waited a moment for the coughing to dissipate. "You know Oswald, you are incredibly boring when you're ill."

"Get me a drink", she croaked. It was a request but it came out like an order. Her throat was dry as a desert and the less words she had to use the better.

She sat up on one elbow as he passed her the glass of water she hadn't finished earlier. "I'm not your nursemaid", he clarified.

She took a sip and swallowed painfully.

"And yet here you are being all nursemaidy," she grinned the kind of sickening ghastly grin of someone edging on delirium. A giggle escaped her as she looked up to see a fever induced vision of The Doctor dressed up in a white nurse uniform.

"You look great in the nurse uniform by the way", she winked and took another sip from the glass.

"I'm not dressed as a nurse you silly girl, I'm wearing a suit", he said in exasperation.

"Whatever you say." She dissolved into a fit of giggles on the mattress, tipping the water over.

"That's enough of your delirious ramblings," he said grabbing the now empty glass.

She felt the duvet being roughly pulled off into a pile on the floor.

"I'm cold", Clara whined, rolling herself into a ball.

"You're poaching in your own juices. Keep it up and I'll throw you in the pool."

The Doctor disappeared out of view and she gazed up to the ceiling, vision swimming in a sickening loop. Nausea was building and she shut her eyes and steadied her breathing in the hope of keeping it down.

"You're not going to be sick are you?" he asked with a hint of annoyance.

She wasn't sure so she didn't answer.

Clara flinched as a cold compress was applied to her head firmly. She cracked open her eyes. The Doctor looked both concerned and slightly irritated as he used the compress to wipe the rest of her face and neck before turning it over and putting it back on her forehead.

She felt positively sick and now she was putting The Doctor out. Clara thought about her decision to stay instead of go home to her flat. It was wrong to impose on him like this.

She reached for his arm, gripping his jacket with her fingers. "I'm sorry", she said in a kind of strangled sob. Her eyes started to well up and she gripped him tighter. "I don't want to be a bother."

"Hush now", he said gently, his face softening somewhat. "Clara, you're not a bother." He pried her hand from his arm and gave it a reassuring pat. "Go to sleep."


	4. Chapter 4

"Doctor, I'm fine really", Clara explained wearily.

"I'll be the judge of that." The Doctor finished writing on his blackboard and turned to face her. "Sit", he said pointing to a nearby chair with his long boney finger.

Clara sat obediently. She felt completely wrung out, but the headache had eased and she was no longer swinging between feeling hot and cold. Clara was still wearing the same outfit as yesterday but it was now crumpled and she had yet to retrieve her shoes from their resting place near the door.

"I'm all better, honestly", she explained but The Doctor was having none of it.

"Last night you were completely out of your tiny mind", he said whipping out his sonic screwdriver and stepping closer to scan her head. "I doubt you've made a miraculous recovery."

"What are you doing, Doctor?", Clara asked with annoyance, her headache kicking up a notch.

"Consider it a check-up," he said letting the sonic hover close to her temple. "No charge."

He finished with the device and put it back in his jacket before grabbing her wrist to check her pulse.

"Now what?", Clara whined.

"Pipe down, I'm trying to count." Twenty seconds passed as The Doctor calculated her resting heart rate.

"Can't the sonic screwdriver tell you all that?"

"Believe it or not, there are some things a machine can't tell me." He held her face in his hands and pulled down her lower eye lids.

"Well?", Clara asked finally.

The Doctor folded his arms and studied her a moment before giving his report. "You're dehydrated, you have a headache and your blood sugar is completely off the tilt. When was the last time you actually ate something?"

"Bag of crisps.. yesterday", she said sheepishly.

"Clara, Clara, Clara", he scolded, shaking his head and turning back to his board.

She slipped off the chair to follow him. "So when can we go?" she said brightly, changing the subject.

"Can you comprehend that we are in a time machine. It doesn't matter if we go today, tomorrow or any other day. It'll still be there."

"I know, it's just that I'm so bored," she said with more drama than was necessary.

"You're bored?" He turned to face her again. "What about me? I've had to sit here waiting for your pathetic human immune system to kick in." He reached for a jar on a nearby shelf and stuck his hand in. "Here", he said handing her a lollipop as a reward for his prodding.

"And let's not forget your prescription", he announced reaching into his jacket and pulling out an oversized spoon. He handed it to her along with a small chilled container.

"It's yoghurt, Doctor", she said unamused.

"So it is. Well done", he said in mock-surprise, shooing her back toward the chair. "Eat."

She lingered for a moment as the Doctor turned and went back to scribbling on his board.

"Thank you", she said finally.

"For what?", he grumbled and continued writing.

"For looking after me", she said sincerely. Clara closed the distance between them and rose up on her toes to plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. He froze.

Still holding the spoon and the yoghurt, Clara put her arms around his waist and buried her face in his side.

"Still not a hugging person", he said, his body going stiff and his arms still frozen in position. Clara couldn't see but his lips curled up slightly in betrayal.


End file.
